Tag Archives: Nature
Trying something a bit new… appreciate feedback. Thanks
Sensual lines above the plain,
seductive curves of coming rain,
poised o’er sweetened fields of corn
whose tassels, golden, so adorn the jasmine jade and green.
Stretching long in verdant scent,
musk of summer’s soaking lent
whispers hope beneath its blush,
silenced, calm, poised in hush, steeping in a rain drop’s dream.
Low and steady, broken lines,
rolling, thrumming drums unwind,
summer’s man-of-war released,
yet held in time’s anticipation,
lightning strikes, no hesitation,
ionizing heaven’s crease.
Tis here I pause to count the beat,
retrieve the distance senses meet,
study past the bruised sky blue,
strain an ocher hope or two, as warm July plays on.
Hushing silk, brushing husks,
decry the rhythm in each of us,
capture breath at lightening’s twain,
count, wait, breathe the rain, before the moment’s gone.
“Distant Rain” photograph by Sharon Knight
© Sharon Knight
Strewn across the empty lea,
in ribbon frayed and broken,
a tiny path runs from the woods,
in steps of time, in whispers spoken.
The summer grass recedes in bows,
homage to the years gone by,
demarking every thought there,
every mark a cobbled sigh.
My eyes peer from October woods,
my heart in longing feels the tone,
ochre, amber, velvet brown,
the season’s scent, the ancient loan
that burns the colors through the dale,
retreats in aging silver grey,
steely eyed and captured cold,
stark against the rill in play.
I find my melancholy heart,
aching, longing setting in,
as crisp the autumn winds reveal
the sweetest scent, the saddest sin.
For as this aging lingers,
as quickly as it stops me cold,
this lea is all that matters,
this path and all its stories told…
In summer’s fold they tarried,
in waist high grass they danced and sang,
laughing, loving, holding hands,
silent woods in echo rang.
Here upon the forest floor,
they fell together leaving all,
igniting life’s elixir sweet,
heeding love as lover’s call.
Yet prattling winds betray their time,
suspended in October’s hush,
returns a shy and sacred kiss
upon a hue of lover’s blush.
The sun denied to shine,
yet balanced grey across the scene,
in hint of coming winter snow,
a lonesome breeze rolls through, serene.
The shadowed woods deny my stead,
a sheltered voice stems high,
leaves and rustling brush rejoice,
as with his mare, a boy strides by.
A ghostly apparition,
opaque and fine as cobweb’s spin,
his words unto the aging nag
are soft and kind, sweetly thin.
Upon the rugged path they step,
into the lea, into the stream,
as errant rays of sunbeam fall,
releasing sparks of silver dreams.
Across the drying autumn grass,
a scent of barn, of oats and hay,
wafts my tensile senses through,
begging me to stay.
Alas, my moments falter,
my stage as witness through this time,
measured in the living,
counted meters of this rhyme.
This life reflects in pausing,
where truths run thick in histories’ hold,
begging none go quietly,
urging strength in growing old.
And so it is I tarry,
softly strolling o’er the lea,
whispering quiet simple truths
here in the heart of me.
Day recoils in silence. Autumn’s warmth gives way to dusk.
Beneath this meadow’s elm I pause, released in freedom from the husk of what this life’s become.
Summer wanes in crescent waves shaped to crash on winter’s shore,
haunting sweeter memories, from here within my open door as soul reflects the sum.
Golden sparks of eyelash glint through whispers of their closing,
that as the long rays reach for me, this tired mind retreats in dozing, beneath an ochre sky.
Subtle breezes, hushed and curved, kiss wisps of hair in amber glint,
draws an easy charcoaled line around this space where pausing’s spent, shyly asking “why?”
This gift for quiet passing, this time where I belong,
is all my heart is asking, heaving sighs in weary song, as praying just to stay.
Suspended weightless, bathed in dusk, the nightingale decries her mate,
comes to me on rush of wings to ease my passing state, till echoed light drifts grey.
Till darkness does enfold me, till crickets warn the length of night,
I wake to find my lonely peace draped o’er my arms in sparkled light retrieved from evening’s dawn.
Now calmly through the lea I stroll, pausing, counting, dew’s sweet scent,
toward home and bed my steps oblige, emptied in the moment’s spent and carried on her song.
Spill me o’er the crystal falls where eons stretch to hold!
Kindly beckon courage from the iron will in stories told!
Grant me one last flight on wings above the alpine valleys low!
Spill my heart between the seams where mountain shadowed waters flow!
Dance my spirit o’er stormy tops in fields of azure skies!
Dash the color from the wounds there left beneath these fading eyes!
For all that I experience,
I am the subtle cause!
For all that I endure through life,
still grows a purpose from the loss!
Oh! Bathe me white in frozen streams!
Echo hearts’ resplendent joys!
Although I’ll leave as silvered man,
I lived here as a boy!
Golden ochre steeped in time,
aged by every season’s crime,
twined through burnished lacquer’s rust,
recalling each last sunray’s lust,
and every blue jay’s call…
Here it sits in still refrain
beneath the willow’s sweeping mane,
here imbibes in summer’s wine,
cast between these reaching vines,
that too, each year recall…
Among this life in moments stalled,
drifting cries of summer fall,
merge the glad of waiting dusk
with laughter from the day’s sweet musk,
and so record it all…
In grains of oak now tarnished brown,
in rusted bolts and furled crown,
in baked on mud upon its feet,
together aging perfumes sweet,
so sits here proudly small…
in whispers, beckons all…
Tucked among the southern pines,
seams of road in shadowed lines,
rend the compass pause, despair,
dissolves to solve the anywhere my journey longs to hold.
Sweet the ardor clings in green,
Spanish moss as ghosts between
the flickered gold of summer’s light,
or silver damp by moonlit night, defines the dewy cold.
Yet dodging through each quilted bank,
between the berms that stand in flank,
with balanced roar and roll of wings,
I slay each dragon tail there seen
to dance into the sun,
and through the southern forests run!
There between the fir’s snowed branches, whispers haunt in winter’s dance,
“Hush!”, she cried in rare defiance, “their whispered dreams don’t come by chance!”
Softly sparkled whiskers flitting through the early morning’s gleam,
whispering wishes for the new day held within this whispered dream.
Written for dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille #24
Image – courtesy of public domain